Agent Double Or Nothing
by Gema227
Summary: As the latest evil plot strikes Las Vegas, Agent 007, Greg Sanders has his hands full as it is. But when the mad man begins to target his friends, Greg's going to have to step from his gun and settle the score, once and for all. /James Bond-CSI mix around
1. Doctor No

**A/N **: Here it is! The first in the "Unnamed" Crossover series staring Greg and Sara! I decided to use James Bond for the first crossover fic after watching the YouTube video "Gregg007" (The funniest and most brilliant video I have seen on there in a while) I took Greg's age back two years, because it just seemed right. This chapter is just a prologue, there for, it will be short. Next chapter should be up in about a week! P.S: As most of you will know, Sara is the main Bond girl, but Cath and Sophia have their five minutes of fame as well. Stay Tuned!

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**Prologue **

He had the perfect plan.

As he surveyed the information flickering on the screen of his laptop, he was positive that he had the most brilliant plan ever thought up in the history of thievery.

He had the perfect plan, because he had the perfect target and to have the perfect target, you had to have to have the perfect victim. He most defiantly had the perfect victim.

Sophia sat beside him, glancing down at an in-flight magazine, a wine colored fingernail placed delicately in her mouth. Noticing his disgusted stare, she drew her finger out slowly and mouthed "Sorry" before wiping it on her skirt.

He sighed and looked back to his personal computer. Pulling up the file he needed, he turned Sophia and asked her if she knew what she was supposed to do.

She answered with an impatient "Yes" and flipped her waterfall of blonde curls over one shoulder.

"I know what I'm doing, Conrad. We've been over this a million times." She rolled her eyes and looked back to her magazine.

"Look it over." He demanded, grabbing her neck and forcing her face closer to the screen.

"I can't look when my eyes are two inches from the screen, Conrad." She stated nervously, her voice quavering. He let go and she backed up, careful not to draw her attention away from the LCD display.

"I know all this." She insisted. He told her to read it again. She drew back to the computer screen and briefly read over the document her boss has pulled up, her bright red lips moving to form silent syllables as she did so.

Sophia whispered the words softly to herself, a habit she formed in grammar school. He heard the words as easily as though she were right next to him. He knew the document so well that he could recite the words Sophia was reading by heart.

"Yeah, I defiantly know all this." Sophia concluded, pushing the lap top back towards him.

In a final check, he turns the screen to face him, scanning over the document one last time before the plane landed.

At first glance, the document looked harmless enough. Just a bunch of the usual "name, age, birth date" sort of questions. But he knew there was so much more to it. Every single scrap of information that he had collected on his target was in this document. Months and months of research went into this five-page form. All for the plan, everything for the plan.

He had been plotting this for years and now it was time for everything he had been dreaming of to be set into motion.

The target? Thirty-year-old American spy, Greg Sanders, Agent 007, or better know as Agent Double Or Nothing.

The objective?

Kill him, at all costs.


	2. License To Kill

**A/N: **I woke up at three A.M today to write this so you guys better review! The next chapter will be longer and better, but this one's getting the ball rolling. Please R & R!

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_Some Months Before The Prologue_

_Dark alley pounding footsteps light fluid smell filling his head Have to get away have to wake up_

His head was pounding and the inside of his mouth was beginning to taste like iron. _Wake up, oh god, please wake up._

_Gun in his hand harsh voice "Either we kill her or you kill her." Raise the revolver look away_

He felt like he was going to puke. His eyes clenched involuntarily, a strangled groan escaping his lips. _Would some one please fucking wake him up!_

_Pull the trigger gun at his back something at his head Cath's voice "It's okay, Greggo. You're fine" Fine, he was fine_

Someone was touching his shoulder, shaking him. Someone was waking him up.

_Women sobs in his head his name on foreign tongue. "Greg, why did you do this? Greg, Greg?"_

"Greg!"

His eyes snapped open and he then realized that he had been crying. He sat up, his arms shaking as he supported himself.

"You okay, man?" Greg looked over to see his rescuer. It was Nick Stokes, a Texan in his late thirties who had been working for the SAU for a long time. Well, longer than Greg any way.

"Hmm?" Greg shook his head sleepily and ran his hand through his hair, leaving a trail of spikes in his wake. "Fine? Oh, yeah. I'm fine. Just a nightmare, y'know?" Nick nodded unsurely.

"Well, bad dream or not, G wants to see you in his office, pronto." Nick jerked his thumb towards the door of the dorm room before opening the sorry excuse for a closet that he could barely fit three shirts into.

The dorm rooms were crappy, but hey, you couldn't blame the SAU. There were twenty-seven agents in the Special Agents Unit, seventeen male and ten female and they all needed to live somewhere. Special Agents weren't the kind of people who could just buy a house out in Summerlin or something. Every single one of them had serial killer or terrorist or evil scientists who would pay excellent money to see them dead. Though it wasn't a rule, it was generally understood that, for your own good, you should live in the dorms.

Only two of the Special Agents lived out of the dorms. But one was in a mental ward and the other was in prison, so they really didn't count.

But, with seventeen men crammed into two dorm rooms with eight in one room and seven in another, it was hardly comfortable.

Yanking the bed curtains closed, Greg yanked one of clean shirt and pants and jumped out.

"Did he say what time he wanted me?" He asked Nick as they both laced up their shoes. Nick shrugged. "He just said to be there 'Pronto."

"Have you seen the new Special Agent?" Nick asked, looking up from his dress shoes.

"No." Greg reached for the black sports coat that Agents were required to wear at all times outside the dorms. "What about her?"

Nick gave a low whistle before speaking. "She's hot." When Greg inquired if she had a name, Nick just shrugged and gave a small "I dunno."

The younger Agent laughed and shook his head before making his exit. "Hey, Greggo!" Wendy Simms exclaimed as he passed her. "How are you?" Greg responded with a halfhearted "Alright."

"You don't look alright." Wendy told him, taking a sip of her coffee. Greg told her it was from lack of sleep and she opened her mouth to start another conversation.

"Sorry, Wendy, but G wants me in his office." Greg explained, backing away. "M'Kay." Wendy said before flouncing back off down the hall. She was pretty and smart but boy could she talk.

Taking the steps up to G's office two at a time, Greg arrived at the large glass entrance rather out of breath. He yanked open the doors and walked inside.

G's office was immense. One could only expect it, him being the supervisor of the SAU, but the ornamentation was beyond ridiculous. Glass cases filled with butterflies and grasshoppers pinned to foam lined the walls along with bookcases, some probably wider than Greg was tall.

"G?" He called, poking his head around one of the doorways. No one called back. "Catherine?" he yelled, thinking that maybe G's assistant would be at the office. Finally knocked. Once, twice and then a third time before the muffled cry of "Oh, Greg! So sorry." Came echoing from the vast confines of the office.

Soon, Catherine Willows came into view, walking as primly and stiffly as ever, followed by a rather disheveled looking G. Seeing the two so close together never failed to get at least a smile out of Greg.

Gilbert Grissom, or G as he was known more commonly around the branch was the supervisor of the SAU. A veteran Special Agent himself, he had worked with the MI6, the FBI, you name it, he probably did some sort of work for it. A spirited man in his early fifties, G was nothing more than what you'd expect. Graying hair, blue eyes and glasses that always seemed to rest a half-inch from the tip of his nose, no matter what he was doing or where he was.

Catherine Willows, on the other hand, was his compete opposite. Co-Supervisor and single mother, Catherine was as efficient and organized as she was beautiful. While not as experienced as G, Catherine had worked for the CIA for three years, before being transferred to London to do some undercover work for the MI6 as an exotic dancer. Upon completing her mission, Catherine came back to the U.S with not only a bullet wound, but a baby girl as well. No body asked any question because when you were in this line of work, sometimes it was best not to know. Tall, blonde and stunning, she was sometimes referred to as "The SAU's own Bond Girl".

"So, Agent Sanders, you are at a one digit level at the moment, correct?" G asked, taking a seat at his desk and ushering Greg in.

"That is correct, sir." Greg answered as he sat down. He was getting nervous. He had applied for his license to kill a few months ago and had been regretting it ever since.

"And exactly six months ago today, you applied to begin training for your license to kill?" G looked at him with open eyebrow raised.

"Yes." Greg confirmed. G made him nervous. Nick had told him that when you applied for your license to kill, before adding the "00" to your census number, you had to actually go out and kill some one first. After his…ordeal, he wasn't so sure he could do that.

"I'm assuming that Agent Stokes already told you what is required to complete your training for a license." Greg nodded and licked him lips. Oh god was he nervous.

"He said that to complete the training, you had to go out and….kill someone." Greg felt his face growing hot as his breath skipped on the words.

G nodded solemnly. "That is correct." Greg fought the urge to bite his lip. A license to kill was the right to murder people while on missions. It was a complicated process, filled with many months of medical and sharp shooting classes. But Greg never thought it elevated to this, didn't think it went this far.

"We are assigning you a mission." Catherine stated, her ice blue eyes drilling into him. She passed him a case file. "On that case file, you will see the picture of a man. That man is Agent Michael Gribbs. A few months ago, we got a tip that he had been passing information to the Russian mafia. A few computer hacks later, this was confirmed. For PR reasons, neither the city, nor the SAU will prosecute him. We need you to find him and kill him cleanly and silently. Understand?"

Greg stuttered for a moment before closing his mouth and nodding. Catherine raised a delicate eyebrow and he squeaked out a pitiful "Yes m'am."

"We will contact you when needed. You are dismissed." G told him, nodding towards the door. Greg swallowed heavily before standing up and making his exit.

"Thank you, sir." He turned around and said this before leaving. Catherine sighed as she watched him go.

"Never send a boy to do a man's job." She told G almost chidingly.

"Agent Sanders is hardly a boy." G counteracted, taking a stack of paperwork out a filing cabinet behind his desk.

"Well, I certainly hope you don't consider him a man." Catherine said, un-wrapping a piece of gum and popping it in her mouth.

"I can only hope you're wrong about that." Grissom exhaled and ran his hand through his hair. "I can only hope you're wrong."


	3. Diamonds Are Forever

**_Four Weeks After Chapter One and Four Months Before The Prologue_**

If ignorance is bliss, than Michael Gribbs woke up very, very happy.

He woke up, got dressed, brushed his teeth, drove to headquarters and clocked in, all with out knowing that this was his final day.

This was the day he was going to die.

To some degree, he was expecting it. A little voice in the back of his head, telling his to live it up, cause he wasn't going to be here much longer.

And when he heard the footsteps coming down the hallway, the voice got a little bit louder.

He had been going through files, trying to find one of the old passwords to a program that he was planning to sell to the Russians in a few weeks.

"Sir?" A voice sounded from the doorway and Michael jumped slightly, immediately turning to the computer screen and exiting out of the file he had been looking at only moments before.

"Yes?" Michael stood up and looked to who ever interrupted him. A young man, probably late twenties, stood in the doorway with his hands in the pockets of his suit coat. Sandy brown hair hung in his face, obscuring mahogany eyes that seemed older than the rest of him.

"I need to…to get a…a file from…" he trailed off, pointing in the general direction of one of the file cabinets.

"Where's your identification?" Michael demanded, holding a hand out impatiently. The younger man fumbled for a second, searching his jacket before finding his I.D card and handing it over.

"Julian Hojem, Foreign Operations?" Michael glanced at him with one eyebrow raised. The man nodded eagerly.

"I'm new." He explained. "Just arrived last week." He gave a nervous, lopsided grin and fidgeted, staring at the ground, the ceiling, anywhere but at Michael's face.

"Okay. But remember to wear your I.D. People will be suspicious if they can't see it." Michael handed back the small laminated card. The younger man nodded.

"I'm just here to pick up a file for my supervisor." He explained, holding his hands up in the universal sign for "Hey, man, don't blame me."

"Well, be quick about it." Snapped Michael.

"Yes, sir." The young agent nodded again and walked to one of the files cabinets in the back of the dimly lit room, taking a key out of his pocket as he did so.

Michael turned to his computer and typed nonsense phrases for a few moments, waiting for the other agent to leave.

"Sir?" The other man asked again. Michael clenched his fists and counted to ten in his head before turning around. This was getting ridiculous.

"Yes?" Michael stayed at his computer.

"My name isn't really Julian Hojem." If Michael had been turned around, he would've seen the sandy-haired agent pulling a gun out of the inside of his coat pocket.

"Then why does it say that on your I.D?" Michael turned around in his chair absentmindedly, to absorbed in his own work to notice the danger lingering ahead.

"My real name's Sanders, Greg Sanders, and I'm with the Special Agents Unit." The young man's eyes closed and for a moment, Michael considered getting up and running.

A muffled shot, courtesy of the internal suppressor Agent Dawson had installed into the gun, rang out and, just like that, Agent Michael Gribbs was dead.

* * *

He was going to be sick.

He let the gun drop to the floor, stumbling backwards and onto his knees.

In his career as a Special Agent, Greg Sanders had hacked into innumerable government systems, broken into numerous buildings and stolen countless items from people who didn't always deserve it. But this….this was sinful on a completely different level.

Death was such a funny thing. People spend their entire lives planning for it and then when it comes, they always find out that they weren't as prepared as they thought. This was the case with both Greg and Agent Gribbs.

Holding back his nausea, Greg got to his feet and grabbed his gun. At least he had gotten the gun out of this.

While some men have a dream woman and some men have a dream car, Greg Sanders had a dream gun.

While in his daydreams, he was usually firing a vintage gold-plated single action Colt .45 (something he had only read about in books), the Walther PPK that Agent Bobby Dawson of the Q Division had fixed for him was fantasy worthy as well. It was beautiful gun, in all aspects. Blowback, semiautomatic with exposed hammer, double action trigger mechanism, single column magazine and a fixed barrel that also acted as a guide for the recoil spring. If he couldn't have had his gold Colt .45, the Walther would've been his second choice.

Holstering the gun, Greg dug around in his pocket for the small detail G had asked him to include in the crime scene.

Holding the small diamond in his hand, Greg approached the body. As he saw the bullet wound, he felt his legs grow weak and the momentarily forgotten sensation of nausea rose again in his throat. Choking it down, Greg delicately placed the diamond in the bullet wound.

It was the well-known calling card of an assassination division of the Russian Mafia. Diamonds were one of the worst surfaces for retaining fingerprints and the blood tended to wash any trace away.

Looking down into the dead man's eyes, Greg couldn't help but feel slightly apologetic. "Sorry." He whispered, telling himself to be a man and walk away. He grabbed the agent's laptop from the desk the said man had been sitting at moments before and Greg did the only thing he could. He ran.

'Cause you know what they say. Human lives may be fleeting, but diamonds are forever

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**A/N: **Sorry it took me so long to get this chapter up and sorry that it's so short. The next one should be a bit longer and have some Sara/Greg interaction in it. The plot should be set in motion in the next few chappies. But enough about that, I have a little contest for you all. Each chapter from here on out will contain a reference to the Bond movies, (This does not include the titles. All the titles are from Bond Movies.) If you can find them, leave them in the review and when I reply to your review, I will not only leave you a nice long message, I will also include the short summary of the next chapter! See if you can catch them! Reviews are appreciated! Love you all so, so much! 


	4. For Your Eyes Only

"Mr. Ek-lee?" The clean-cut French man entered the office as silently as a fox. Ecklie jumped slightly, shocked.

"Yes?" He turned face the man, his thousand dollar shoes squeaking on the marble floor. The Frenchman's face immediately registered in his mind, though they had never met before in person.

"Why, hello Monsieur Benoit!" he exclaimed, rushing forward to shake the man's hand. "You've arrived right on time!" Benoit raised an eyebrow.

"I should 'ope so, Mr. Ek-lee." Ecklie waved away the mispronunciation on his surname and gestured for Benoit to sit down.

"Es 'e coming?" Benoit asked, crossing on leg over another before smoothing down his expensive-looking slacks.

"He is." Ecklie confirmed, nodding his head slightly.

"Vat deed you say 'es name was, again?" Benoit tilted his head to the left, as thought he was trying to remember something.

"He goes by the name of _O Raposa_." Ecklie explained, reaching for some papers on his desk and shuffling them quietly.

Benoit's thin, red mouth twisted into a sly grin. "Zee Fox." He said, meeting Ecklie's eye will a gaze that was so intense that the older man had to look away.

"You know your Portuguese." Ecklie asked, trying not to seem as impressed as he was. Benoit uncrossed, and then recrossed his legs while examining his perfectly manicured fingernails.

"My school in France offered a most excellent language program." The young man explained, glancing up at Ecklie once again.

"Wonderful." Ecklie felt a dire need to cut the conversation short. As though on cue, Sophia strutted into the office, her high heels clicking unnervingly on the marble.

"Mr. Raposa, sir." She announced before walking out of the room again. A large man in a blue pinstriped suit and matching hat entered the office, his air of malignation filling the entire area.

"Nice to meet you." Ecklie stood up and held out his hand. The man looked at it for a second before looking back up at Ecklie incredulously. Ecklie slowly lowered his hand.

"Mr. Raposa, this is Monsieur Benoit." Ecklie gestured the Frenchmen, who nodded in greeting to Raposa. Raposa put a meaty hand the back of one of the office chair and pulled it back so roughly that it was a miracle that it didn't collapse right then and there. Sitting down, Raposa readjusted his hat before looking to Ecklie.

"So, Mr. Raposa, you contacted me a few months ago regarding your funds and their security." Ecklie needed no confirmation on this; he was simply repeating what he already new, for Benoit's sake.

"Correct." Raposa nodded his head, his thick Portuguese accent marring every word.

"I turned to Mr. Benoit. I have been using his services for a number of years regarding my funds and he has proven most trustworthy." Ecklie gestured to Benoit. He was laying the praise on a little thick, but all was fair in love and war.

"Why should I choose 'im?" questioned Raposa, jerking a thumb in Benoit's direction. Benoit looked slightly shocked at being given such crude treatment, but composed himself just in time.

"Why, Monsieur Benoit is the most trustworthy, intelligent man I have ever known." Ecklie lied through his teeth. "He will handle your group's funds better than anyone ever can."

"He's okay with banking for a guerilla gang?" asked the Portuguese man. Ecklie looked over and saw Benoit give a quick "hello-I'm-right-here!" look, but wiped his face clean of any emotion before Raposa could see.

"Of 'ourse I am!" exclaimed Benoit. Raposa looked his way, sizing him up.

"And you sure nothing will go wrong?" he asked.

"Zere vill be no risk in the portfolio." Benoit assured him. Raposa shrugged.

"You sound alright to me." He stood up, the chair creaking as he did so. "I'll be in touch."

"Good to know." Benoit offered a well practiced smile before Raposa exited the office.

The smile fading, Benoit turned back to Ecklie. "Could you 'ave sounded any faker?"

"So sorry, Monsieur Benoit." Ecklie apologized, even though he didn't mean it. "Are you satisfied with the transaction?"

"I vill be once that agent boy has been taken care of." Snarled Benoit. Ecklie nodded dutifully. "Short selling companies to pay for terrorist activities aren't exactly things I can keep from the Es-Ay-You."

"It will be handled." Ecklie assured him. He did his best to keep a straight face but inside, he was smiling.

Everything was going according to the plan.

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**A/N: **Ah! It's finally up! So sorry for this ridiculously short and crappy chapter. More Greg in the next one, I promise. I apologize for the late update! Hope you guys like this chapter and, because it's my birthday tomorrow, I do hope that you can forget about the late update and leave on wee review! As for the Bond references- the one this time is a quote taken directly from the movie "Casino Royale", which most of this fic is going to be based off of, since it's my favorite Bond Movie.

Bond Reference from Last Time: Agent Aspen picked up on one of them-The gold platted Colt .45 from "The Man with the Golden Gun" but absolutely none of you found the big reference! The Walther PPK! That's Bond's OFFICIAL gun! squees Well, thanks so much for reading and (fingers crossed) reviewing! Catch you on the flip side!


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